I'm sorry, blogger, but tumblr is better.

http://scribbleouttheflyleaf.tumblr.com

see?  on tumblr, you reblog stuff without feeling like a plagaristic hypocrite.
(and there goes any chance of the google people being nice to me)

i wish I lived in a city.

I went to St. Louis yesterday (which, yes, I understand doesn't count as a huge city, but anyway) and I seriously wished I lived in a big city.  Not right now.  Not with six siblings, strict parents, and the like, but when I'm older, I'm going to get a gorgeous flat, in the middle of New York, and I will have a library, concerts, art shows, museums, classes, and noodles at my disposal.  There'll be a photograph waiting to happen wherever I look, and I can walk through the street singing and dancing and eating noodles and nobody will call the police.

I'm perfectly aware that this is not entirely realistic.  but I can dream, yes?

what I love about email.

1. you can have 30 conversations at once without getting confused.
2. you can abruptly change topics without seeming rude.
3. you can send pictures, or links, or copy and paste the story you're writing or whatever, and I don't have to listen to you talk about it or try to find it on your cellphone.  saves us both some time.
4.  when you don't want to talk to somebody, they're bound to pop up at the store.  If you don't want to email somebody, they'll email you.  the difference is, you can get away with throwing an email in the trash bin, while picking up the person and throwing them in a dumpster in public is a bit more difficult.
5. it's private.
6. you can set filters to automatically delete messages from certain people, with the words "forward, quiz, or this is crazy cool!!!" in the subject line.
7. graffiti background.

I'm finally DONE

okay, so I thought that 30 day challenge would be a good idea, but I'm very relieved that it's over.  I would much rather blog about the weird people that go to the gym at 8:30 pm and juice.  So remind me to never do one of those things again. 

who i am

I'm just me.  But that doesn't really help, now does it? 
      I am... a rocker.  an artist.  a student.  a swimmer.  a friend.  a sister.  a daughter.  a prankster.  a rebel.  a writer.  an organizer.  a reader.  an eater.  a maniac.  I argue, I contradict, I annoy.  I joke, I laugh, I make others laugh.  I listen, I counsel, I comfort.  I work, I sweat, I succeed.  I lead, I rebel, I ignore.  I follow, I trust, I accept.  I think, I wonder, I cry.  I eat, I drink, I'm merry.  I sing, I dance, I'm joyful.  And, if you give me enough sugar, I might even give you me deluxe Jonas Brother fan impersonation.   But, in a way that has no english adjective, I'm me.  I'm punk, I'm emo, I'm nerd, I'm annoying, I'm a clown, I'm artsy, I'm weird, I'm an athlete.  I've been called all these things and more, but I don't believe it.
      somebody said "generalizations are a necessary evil." I most emphatically agree.  without them, we'd be even more confused than we already are.  But with them, people ask you to generalize yourself.  I've been living with myself for almost fifteen years.  I've seen myself dancing in fluffy pink dresses, I've seen myself put people in choke-holds while playing water polo.  I've seen myself do over a thousand situps without stopping, and I've seen myself spend hours on a couch with popcorn and a tv.  I enjoy dressing up for fancy events, I enjoy running around in ripped jeans, ratty sneakers, and oversize t-shirts.  I like drawing, listening to music, and watching emotional movies.  I also love arguing, writing essays, and planning world domination.  I will spend an hour playing with my little brother, and then I'll be neverendingly annoyed with little kids. 
       The point being, I'm just me.  You can't ask me to define myself and expect to automatically understand me by reading my answer.  I will take a lifetime to understand, and even then you might not get me.  I enjoy that my personality is conflicting, that I can enjoy both math and art, that I can confuse people without even trying.  And most of all, I love noodles.

what i've learned in the past month.

1: it's a good idea to proofread your essays before you hand them in.

2: pastels are a ton easier than oil pastels.

3: if you bring a picture to model off of, and it creeps your art teacher out, you'll do a 20 minute sketch of it.  If you don't bring one, she'll pick an ugly hummingbird for you and you'll waste two months on an oil pastel of it.

4: you might be able to get away with some things.  But if it involves missing homework, your parents will find out.

5: parking in the middle of the road is a bad idea, because as soon as you get out of the car, the previously deserted road will fill up with old ladies.

6: old ladies are only cute when they're not mad at you.

7: you can read summaries of a book and you will completely understand anything that anybody in the real world will ask you about the book.  But you'll get a 17% on the quiz.

8: when doing reports on various sorts of mushrooms found around your house, "I fed it to my brother and this, this, and this happened" is not the sort of "scientific observation" your teacher was looking for.

9: don't turn in the rough draft of your lab report, particularly when there's paramecium water all over it.

A picture of me last year and now, and how I've changed since then.

That was me last year. Holding Canadian bacon. I'm sorry, I just can't find one with my face showing. I was going through a "oh my gosh don't you dare point that camera at me" phase (scratch that, I still don't like other people taking pictures of me, but that's because it usually involves trying to get 7 kids to smile simultaneously. Which is easy when watching Mr. Bean, but not so easy when looking at a camera for an hour.

Anyway, last year wasn't a good year, but it wasn't a bad year. I started taking classes online, with Regina Coeli Academy, and I met some really awesome people there. To be quite honest, it's awesome. I also joined a great youth group, and got good at butterfly, and other than that it was pretty boring.

And that's me this year.

2010 has made a huge improvement in my life, and it's also been a pretty crappy year.  If that makes any sense.
I moved up a level in swimming (highest level available, yay me) gained like 15 pounds, which I'm not proud of but working on, and spent a week at the amazing Camp Ondessonk.  I've made a ton of progress with my schoolwork (though I don't like my classes this year as much as I did last year) and hugely improved my taste in music and art.  Its creepier now, but a lot more interesting.  Also, I've been pretty depressed these past few months.  My parents and I are drifting apart, and some of my friends, too, and I swear if I don't get out of this house soon I will strangle my little sister.  I feel smothered.  But I know that what's happening is hard, but it's not bad.  It's going to build my character and make me stronger, even if I consciously avoid being left alone in a room with both my parents.  I've made some hard choices, and I've given a ton of thought to some things that weren't that important to me a year ago.  I feel like I'm starting to find my place in this world.  And I must say, it feels good.

what I think of my friends and why I'm doing this challenge.

My friends are amazing.  There are a lot of people out there who think or pretend they're my friends, but the true friends that I do have, I would take a bullet for.  Whether it's the girl I've known since kindergarten, or the girl  I've been emailing for a year, I feel like I can tell them anything, and they'll at least try to help me out (even if it doesn't actually work.)

And I'm doing this challenge... wait, didn't I already say this?
yes, it seems I did.
"I have a list of things to write on when I'm bored, but if something happens to my brain and I run out (yeah, like that'll ever happen) then I'll be sad. So I'm doing this. for no reason at all, pretty much, except that I now have an insane fear of running out of things to say. I mean, how scary would that be? akin to dying."

I know I'm headed toward a failure of a political career when I just keep repeating myself rather than saying anything remotely helpful to anybody.

what's in my bag

a sketchpad, pencils, eraser, the picture I'm modeling my drawing from, The Odyssey, hairbrush, notebook, chapstick, a water bottle, cellphone, 20 dollars, and a jacket.  Unfortunately, I don't know where my bag is and I'll need most of those things in the near future.

A letter to my parents

this is either the best or worst time I could possibly do this.  But either way, it'll probably be good for me.  Here goes.

Dear mom and dad,
OHMYGOSH I'M SO AMAZINGLY MAD AT YOU.  Yes, I know that I most likely should care whether I fail Latin or not.  But I don't.  I don't need Latin.  And even if I did, I would do it without you two hanging over my shoulder 24/7.  It's not that I'm incapable of responsibility, it's that you're stuffing things down my throat that I don't want to be responsible for.  There's so many things I would rather do than what you're choosing for me.  I want to be a gymnast, not a swimmer.  But you pulled me out, and now it's too late to go back.  I want to spend time with my friends, not always you guys.  I want to strangle my little sister, but you won't let me, which I can understand, but do you really think that forcing us to spend time together is going to make me like her?

I want to dye my hair cherry red, get my cartilage pierced, move to a big city,  and go to concerts you wouldn't approve of.  I haven't even mentioned most of those things because I know you won't let me, and I'm not looking to stir up more trouble.  But I'm starting to wonder if maybe it would be a better idea to just say what I think, make you really mad at me, and get it over with.  But I know I can't.  I have 6 little siblings to watch out for, and I can't do anything to hurt them.

I know I'm the first kid, and basically a guinea pig.  I know that you sometimes don't know what to do with me.  According to me, neither of you had an ideal childhood, either.  And on top of that, I'm most definitely not an easy kid.  I'm thankful for all you've done for me, and I'm sorry for any pain, annoyance, or bruised toes I've caused you.  thanks for having the amazing patience to raise me, and please don't think I'm trying to get mad at you for no reason.  I promise you I have one, even if you don't fully understand it.

I'm sorry I've been so detached lately.  But every time I get you two together, the subject turns to everything I've done wrong, and I get so frustrated... When I tense my jaw, get that steely look in my eyes, and slam the door, I am mad at you.  But I'm going to go sit on my bed and shed a few silent tears.  You're pretty much the only people who can do that to me, and I think that's proof of how much I care what you think.  Maybe it's because I know that you're in control and I'm mad about that, but I think it's so much more than that.  The things that I want to do are so different from anything that you have in mind for me, or that you've done yourselves, but the fact that, in spite of all that, I still look to you when I'm in trouble, just goes to show how I still love you.

so, thanks.

something I crave for a lot.

Fresh fruit, especially oranges, and bread.  Plus, of course, the eternal QQ.

what makes me different than everybody else.

I'm not normal.   All of you guys know that already. I don't really know why, but I am.
I'm different because my uncle threw me into a ceiling fan when I was little.
No, not really.  I mean, yes, he really did, but I think I was different before that.
Most people have a few things that they do, that they're working towards, that they enjoy.  They consider themselves athletes, students, businessmen, musicians, hoboes.  But the cool thing about being me is that I don't.  I'm in youth group, I swim, I write, I draw, I paint, I read, I watch terroristic children, and I plot world domination.  I watch a bit of tv, I am always eating, love music (particularly rock and alternative) and I never wear shoes outside of utmost necessity.  I love my friends, and hate my dogs, and arguing is so much more fun than agreeing with somebody.  I take online classes with (mostly) amazing teachers, and I speak spanish influentamente pero mejor que la mayoria de la gente en los EEUU.

Oh, and I'm slightly out of my head.  but life is less boring that way, so I'm fine with it.

a picture of something that makes me happy.

This is a 4b pencil.  His name is Nelson.

Nelson can draw, and Nelson can write.  Nelson can poke, stab, and spear.  If you have two Nelsons, you can eat Chinese food with them. 

So you can see why he makes me happy.

somebody I see myself being with in the future

at the moment, absolutely nobody.

plans, hopes, and dreams

yes, I realize that I did this backwards, please excuse my idiocy and LEAVE ME ALONE ALREADY!
(you'll also need to excuse my unprofessionally diagnosed case of passive-aggressiveness)

plans: I'm going to learn a bajillion random, useless things, have a ton of fun, and get into a good college. 
hopes: I dearly hope that a random guy will walk up to me one day, give me a coupon for an infinite amount of free QQ, and then we will walk off into the sunset, but then his mother will take him away from me, but she'll give me an entire QQ shop, so I won't care.
dreams: to be quite honest, at the moment I'm not really sure what I want to do with my life, but last night I did dream that ran away and lived with penguins.  I think that might be a hint.

nicknames I have and why I have them

Sarita: it means cute little Sara
Tita: because my 3-year-old friend couldn't pronounce Sarita
Vickie-Mac: I'm not exactly sure. 
La Americana stupida que tiene un peinado rara.: (translation: that stupid American who has scary hair)

somebody I would switch lives with for one day and why

Hayley Williams.  Because Paramore and the bands they tour with seem pretty fun to be around, I would love to spend a day in a bus with them and on a stage with them, and it would get me out of having to drink milk.  Though it would be pretty stressful, it would also be a ton of fun, and I could dye my hair an awesome color without parental consent.  Also, she most likely gets free food.

yet another picture of myself...

my gosh, you guys are so demanding...
there seems to be a high demand for horror movies.  I suppose that seeing my face is a good substitute for a scary movie.

still don't know what day it is...

if I put my ipod on shuffle, the first ten songs that play are...

crushcrushcrush-paramore
take me to paradise- green day
in the dark-flyleaf
i write sins, not tragedies-panic! at the disco
yeah yeah yeah- new politics
imaginary-evanescence
chop suey-system of a down
the small print-muse
breathe today-flyleaf
dreambound-helloween

a picture of my family...

this is dominic.  He is entertaining, adorable, and likes to eat.  also, he can't fly.  But since the universe, and, hence, my family, revolves around him, a picture of him pretty much counts.

whatever freaking day it is: i've lost track

Dear dude at Steak 'n Shake:
My grandmother can serve thanksgiving dinner to 47 people faster than you can get me a sandwich and mocha shake. You ought to be doing a little better to deserve your awesome hat. Is it really so hard? You made me sit in your freezing restaurant, in short sleeves, still wet and cold from swim practice, staring across the table at one of my current "least tolerable people in the world" contenders, and on top of that your forgot the straws. Not cool.
Also, man in the 18-wheeler, you set an example to all other cars on the street. If you could just let out a little honk when there's a ton of children crowding around me, listening to my ipod in the cold, holding pro-life signs, and asking you to honk, the least you could do is honk. we're extremely disappointed in you. Also, you need to wash your truck.

day 12

I think this is a stupid Tumblr advertisement... so I'm going to talk about safety scissors instead, because it's my blog and I can do that.

For some reason unexplained to me, safety scissors are popping up everywhere in my life. Somehow, I can get a conversation about what color we should paint the bathroom turned into a rant on safety scissors. Because honestly, they’re just so pointless (pun unintended. Trust me, they have enough of a point that two 5 year old boys can do quite a bit of damage to a desk) that it’s hard not to.
How in the world are you supposed to cut with those things? That’s like trying to slice a loaf of bread with a spoon. The only people who can do it are kindergarteners. And since they seem to enjoy such challenges, they tend to ruin a lot of things with safety scissors. If you give them real scissors, however, they magically don’t get hurt. So I’m still not sure why we need the blunt sort. They’re not safer, they’re not easier to use, and they’re definitely not keeping us from economic ruin (that’s Obama. He’s doing everything in his godlike power to not spend our money on stupid things, like education and terrorist protection, therefore getting us out of debt.)
However, they are fun to throw at people, so I suppose I can’t say that they’re completely useless.

day 11

yet another picture of me and my friends...

yet I still don't have one.  Unless you want a picture of my lunch.  Though I think that might be a one-way relationship.